Border Patrol Adventure!
by Late October
Summary: During a routine patrol of Federation space, the Enterprise encounters a strange, damaged alien vessel. After beaming back onboard from this unusual ship, some very weird things start happening to the Enterprise's crew.


_Xunae_

A Star Trek: Original Series fan fiction

_Captain's Log: Stardate 4861.2_

_The Enterprise has been assigned routine patrol near the Federation's outermost borders. This border lines an area of space currently unmapped by Federation spatial cartographers. Federation scout ships have explored the first several hundred light years beyond the border of this area and have encountered nothing other than the occasional comet or asteroid. Because it appears that this immediate region of space is completely uninhabited, it is unofficially called the 'Blank Zone.' No alien ships have ever been detected within sensor range. The Enterprise will patrol this area for the next two standard months to ensure that it indeed remains empty, and that the Klingons or Romulans do not attempt to use it as an unexpected entry point from which to launch an attack against the Federation._

Captain James Tiberius Kirk of the Federation starship Enterprise leaned back in his command chair and switched off the electronic log recorder. They were currently patrolling the so-called Blank Zone for what had so far been a very "blank" mission. Kirk didn't expect it to be anything else. He didn't really think either the Klingons or Romulans would ever launch an attack from this part of space. For one, it would take either of them over a year to circumvent Federation borders in order to arrive from this side undetected. Secondly, this border was far enough away from any major planets to allow adequate time for the Federation to respond to such an invasion. Third, since there were seemingly no planets or resources within this area, it would be difficult for any invading ship or fleet to restock in case of supply shortages. Jim sighed. The warding off of a highly unlikely (but potential) Klingon/Romulan attack was Starfleet's standard excuse for justifying assigning boring, routine, busywork to an experienced starship. The routine patrols had to be done, and no one ever wanted to do them because they were horribly dull. But if Starfleet suggested that there might be the slightest possibility of a threat afoot, then starship captains couldn't complain about performing unnecessary patrols.

Jim looked around his bridge. Lieutenant Uhura sat at the communications console, running systems checks on the control panel, Ensign Chekov and Lieutenant Sulu were monitoring the helm, and First Officer Mr. Spock was quietly engaged in some calculations. A very slow day. Jim sighed and picked up his data padd. _Oh well,_ he thought. _Being a starship captain can't be exciting all the time._ He supposed he could work on the annual crew evaluations. He may as well do something while he was doing nothing.

The minutes crawled by. The captain made it all the way through the F's uninterrupted, when Ensign Chekov suddenly spoke.

"Keptan, sensors are picking up an unidentified alien wessel 1.2 parsecs ahead. It looks like it drifted into Federation space from the Blank Zone."

Kirk shook himself from his paperwork-induced torpor. "What?"

"An alien spacecraft, sir, but not wery big. I am detecting a faint varp trail, but the ship appears to be stationary."

"Go to yellow alert. Move in closer. I want to get into visual range."

"Yes, Keptan."

The doors to the bridge swooshed open, and in walked Dr. McCoy, the ship's chief medical officer.

"Well, what's going on?" he said in surprise, noting the activity. "Is something actually _happening_?"

"I'm not sure, Bones. That's what we're trying to find out."

"Captain," said Mr. Spock. "We are now approaching visual range."

Kirk nodded. "Put it on the screen."

The blank, starlit scene immediately before them vanished, and a strange circular object appeared within a sea of velvety darkness. The craft was indeed alien. It was a small, round silvery vessel about the size of two shuttlecrafts. It was covered with uniform nodules, each of which was capped with some sort of window or porthole. Some of the protrusions had black rings around them, and some were surrounded by rings composed of small circles. Other than that, there were no markings on the ship. As the craft rotated slowly, Kirk could see that it was damaged. Several dents and scrapes lined the sides, and there was a huge gash in the hull plating. Purple smoke rose slowly from one of the ruined nodules. The ship seemed to be floating dead in space.

"Mr. Spock, report on status of alien ship."

"The ship appears to be deserted, and it has sustained heavy damage to its warp core and environmental controls. It is difficult to assess precisely when and how the damage occurred without closer study. This type of technology is completely foreign to me. I believe we may have discovered a vessel belonging to a new species unknown to the Federation."

"Lieutenant Uhura, open a hailing frequency."

"Aye, sir. Hailing frequencies open."

"This is Captain James T. Kirk of the Federation starship USS Enterprise calling unidentified vessel. Please respond."

Static and white noise was the response.

"Enterprise to unidentified vessel. Are you in need of any assistance?"

"Sir, their communications seem to be damaged."

"Mr. Spock. Is this ship structurally stable? What about life signs?"

"Readings indicate that the ship is currently stable. I am not detecting any life signs. However, some of the damaged machinery seems to be interfering with our scans. It is difficult to procure concrete readings."

"In that case, we'll beam aboard. I want to know what we're dealing with here. Mr. Spock, Dr. McCoy: meet me in the transporter room in ten minutes with security personnel. Standard equipment and life-support belts."

Kirk rose from the command chair and straightened his gold tunic. "Ten minutes, gentlemen," he repeated. He bounded into the turbo-lift feeling more alive than he had in days. _Finally, _he thought, grinning. _Some excitement._

_******_

A trembling whine filled the dark interior of the alien ship as five shimmering columns of gold light materialized inside. The boarding party instantly drew phasers and activated their wrist lights. The ship was eerily quiet, and there was no one in sight.

The interior of the ship seemed to consist of one huge circular room. Three large inner decks circled the main chamber at equal intervals, leaving the center of the ship a hollow cylinder. The decks were connected to one another by strange, curved ladders, and the walls were lined with screens, control panels, levers, and many unidentifiable pieces of machinery. A metallic bowl chair sat directly in front of what seemed to be a central control panel. Much of the ship's interior was scorched, and the rear of the ship was dented almost to the point of a hull breach. Most of the damage seemed to be concentrated in that area: broken pieces of metal conduit and burnt wires littered the floor, and the equipment attached to the walls was smashed. The air was filled with a diluted lavender smoke.

"Fascinating," Mr. Spock commented softly, tricorder whirring. "I have never before seen machinery of this type. The very materials from which they are constructed are also unfamiliar. For example, this deck plating is some type of metal/stone hybrid, and I am detecting a high concentration of natural crystalline minerals integrated into the computers and machines . . . "

The Vulcan stopped suddenly, dropping his arms by his sides. The tricorder fell from his hands onto the deck plating with a clatter. He stumbled a bit and fell against the wall. He seemed pale and slightly shocked, and his brown eyes were suddenly blank and distant.

"Spock! What is it? What's wrong?" questioned Jim.

Spock stared ahead intensely for a few moments and then jerked himself out of his trance. "I . . . don't know, Captain. For a moment, I . . . felt something."

"Felt something? What do you mean?"

"I felt a presence. It seemed as though another person was trying to communicate with me, but . . . it's gone now." He winced and placed his hand to his pale forehead.

"Spock, you all right?" asked the doctor. "You don't look so good."

"I am perfectly all right doctor, although for some reason, I feel suddenly tired."

"When was the last time you slept?"

"Four point eight days ago. May I remind you, doctor, that Vulcans do not require nearly as much sleep as humans . . ."

"Save it, Spock. I'm tired of hearing your pathetic justifications for neglecting your health. When we get back to the ship, you are going to take a nap."

"Bones!" said Jim. "If you're finished fussing over Spock's supposedly precarious health, how about telling me what your medical tricorder says about this environment?"

"Well, there definitely aren't any other life forms aboard. At least, not now. I'm picking up very faint, residual traces of organic life, but no concrete readings. Someone, or something, was here at some point, but whatever it was is gone now."

"What about this gas?" asked Jim, gesturing towards the purple smoke.

"It is leaking from a containment chamber that circles the entire ship," answered Spock. "It seems to be a chemical mixture related to the ship's environmental systems, but I do not know its precise components. Whatever purpose the gas served, its leakage from the containment chamber suggests that the equipment no longer functions. Possibly that prompted the inhabitant or inhabitants to abandon ship."

"Sir," said Ensign Andrews, one of the red shirted security guards. "None of the escape pods have been fired. And they couldn't have transported out: there's no transporter."

"There does not _appear_ to be a transporter, Ensign," said the science officer. "We do not know the purpose of much of this equipment."

"Well," said Jim. "Maybe they jumped ship. Whatever happened, they're not here now.

"Mr. Spock; Ensign Andrews. Try to stop that gas leak. If we don't know what it is, we don't know what it can do. I don't want this ship to explode with us on it. We'll take the next two hours to visually record the ship's interior and take as many tricorder readings as possible. Then we need to beam back to the ship and contact Starfleet command. I have a feeling they'll want to know about this."

******

Two hours, fifteen minutes later, the boarding party rematerialized on the Enterprise's transporter pads with enough data to write a small book. After sending their report to Starfleet Command, they were ordered to continue their patrol.

Excited talk about the alien spacecraft kept the crew busy for the next several days. Where did the ship come from? Who built it? Was it a new race of beings, and if so, were they hostile or friendly? Mr. Spock and Montgomery Scott were able to piece together a great deal of data, and even more speculations, regarding those questions based on the tricorder readings, but the facts about whoever built they ship still remained a mystery.

Eventually, the talk died down, and it was back to business as usual. Boring, ordinary, patrol duty.

The next morning, Jim stepped from the turbo lift onto the bridge at 0800 hours for the start of beta shift. He dragged himself to his chair and forced himself to start once again on the crew evaluations. Boring, boring, boring. But it had to get done sooner or later. One of the only things he didn't like about his job was the fact that there seemed to be either way too much happening at once or absolutely nothing happening at all. When it rained, it poured; and when it didn't, there was a drought. Right now, the Enterprise was experiencing a serious rain shortage.

Speaking of liquid, he hadn't even taken one drink of his morning coffee yet. His yeoman always put a cup of coffee in the armrest cupholder on his command chair at the start of each morning shift. He picked up the insulated paper cup and raised it to his lips, when suddenly, it flew out of his hands onto the floor. Jim stared at the spilled coffee, momentarily stunned. It felt like someone knocked it out of his hand, but there was no one there. He frowned. He must of just dropped it. He _was_ awfully tired. Last night he stayed up too late playing three dimensional chess with Spock. Yes, that was it. He didn't get enough sleep, and he hadn't had any caffeine yet that morning, and that's why he was so out of it. He called his yeoman in to clean up the mess and bring him a new cup, and then he didn't think anything else about it. He dove back into the crew evaluations.

The hours passed slowly and uneventfully. The ship had encountered nothing else on patrol so far. After fifty evaluation reports, the captain's eyelids crew heavy. He started to feel very sleepy. He thought about how nice it would be to lie down after his shift was over, and soon he was nodding off. Suddenly, a loud shriek jerked him awake. He spun around to see Uhura wide-eyed and open mouthed. She was clutching her thigh.

"Is something wrong, Lieutenant?" he asked.

She seemed confused and alarmed. "I . . . I'm sorry, but . . . Someone just pinched my leg. It really hurt."

"Someone pinched your leg? But there was no one near you," observed Mr. Spock.

"Some_one _or some_thing _definitely pinched me. Hard." She examined her leg. "I can see a bruise forming already, even under my tights."

Uhura looked up to see the faces of her fellow bridge officers staring at her like she was crazy. She blushed furiously. "It . . . must have been the chair. I must have pinched my leg on the chair. It has happened before. I'm sorry to bother everyone." She went quietly back to work and didn't say anything for the rest of the hour.

The rest of the shift passed uneventfully.

Jim met Bones and Spock for dinner in the mess hall at 1900 hours. "So," asked Jim at they sat down at their usual table. "Did anything interesting happen in Sickbay today?"

"Thankfully, no," replied the doctor. "Interesting days in Sickbay usually mean bad news for everyone else. I set one broken arm this morning. Ensign Andrews fell off a deck in cargo bay three. He claims someone pushed him, but when I asked him who he wouldn't say. I think he was just being careless. Not much else happened. I filed some reports. Christine and I worked on updating the medical filing system on the main computer. That's pretty much it. What about you, Jim? Anything interesting happen on the bridge?"

"Not unless you call catching up on paperwork interesting," muttered Jim, his mouth full of chicken sandwich. "We passed an asteroid around 1100 hours. I think someone sneezed a couple times. A very uneventful day. Oh, and Uhura just about jumped out of her skin because she pinched her leg on her chair."

McCoy laughed. "The same thing happened to Christine yesterday. It's those damn miniskirts. I imagine we'd all be pinching our legs on the chairs if two-thirds of our thighs were exposed."

"I have never seen the logic in assigning different styles of uniforms for different sexes," commented Spock. "Particularly one that utilizes less covering for women. I have observed that human females often prefer slightly warmer temperatures than human males."

Jim shrugged. "Yeah, well, Starfleet isn't always totally logical." He leaned back in his chair, setting the fork down on his plate.

"Spock, are you up for chess tonight? I've been working on my technique. Sooner or later I'm going to beat you."

"Captain, I'm afraid I will have to decline," he answered. "I must meditate this evening."

"I thought you meditated every evening," remarked McCoy. "Late, after all us wholesome, red blooded creatures go to sleep."

"I typically meditate for two hours every night, but lately I have found that to be insufficient. I would like to meditate for an extended period this evening. Perhaps another night, Jim."

"That's fine, Spock," answered his friend, "but why the extra meditation? Is something wrong?"

Spock paused momentarily. "I do not believe so. I simply have not been able to concentrate lately. I . . . feel like my mental shields are weakening. Obviously, I must spend more time centering myself to strengthen those shields."

"Just what exactly do you need to "strengthen your shields" against?" questioned McCoy suspiciously.

"The rampant outpouring of human emotional energies, for one," replied Spock. "As a Vulcan, I find it very distracting to work in such an emotionally unstable, mentally unprofessional environment."

"Well, _excuse_ _us_!" growled McCoy. "Please allow me to _personally_ apologize for contaminating your existence with normal, healthy human emotions."

"Apology accepted, doctor," replied Spock politely. "Just please do not let it happen again."

McCoy lowered his head and muttered something incomprehensible that included the words _green-blooded_, _smart-ass, _and _calculator._

******

The Sickbay doors swooshed open, and in walked Ensign Andrews.

"Ensign!" greeted Dr. McCoy. "How's that arm of yours doing?"

"Oh, fine, doctor," replied Andrews. "Just a little stiff."

McCoy ran a medical scanner up and down the sling. "The fracture seems to be healed, but I would still advise you to lay off the heavy lifting for at least a few days. How's that pain medication working for you?"

"Fine. Maybe even _too _well, I'm not sure."

"What do you mean, 'too well'?"

"Well," the Ensign began sheepishly, "it seems to cause some weird side effects."

"It shouldn't. I use this on my patients all the time. What kind of side effects?"

"I . . . I seem to be having hallucinations. For the past few days, I've been seeing things in the corner of my eye and in shadows, and sometimes even right in front of me for a second. They happen really fast, and they never last for more than a moment or two."

"Describe what you've been seeing to me."

"Well, it's hard to really describe. They're like tiny little blue things."

"Blue things? What do you mean."

The Ensign shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "That's just it. It's hard to explain because I've never seen anything like it before. They're small, about five to ten centimeters long and they're blue. They just appear momentarily out of nowhere, and then they disappear again. They don't seem to be totally solid; it's kind of like they fade out towards the edges. At least, that's the impression I get. They come and go so quickly that it's hard to get a good look at them."

McCoy ran the medical sensor over his patient's eyes. "Well, there's nothing wrong with your corneas. I'm not sure what's causing this, but whatever it is, you're not the only one affected."

"What do you mean, doctor?"

"I mean that you're the fourth person to come in this week complaining of visual hallucinations. Everyone says the same thing: they've been catching glimpses of little blue objects. Several people have reported tactile hallucinations as well: brief, sharp pinches and pokes. People claim that they feel something touching them, only to turn around and find no one and nothing there."

"What do you think it all means?"

McCoy shrugged. "I wish I knew. I want to take a blood sample before you go. I'm authorizing for you to take the rest of the day off." After dabbing the Ensign's arm with some antiseptic, the doctor drew a fresh syringe and gently drew some blood. "Go to your quarters and get some sleep. A little extra shut-eye never hurt anyone."

"Thanks, doctor. I will," replied Andrews.

Just after Andrews had left, the Sickbay doors swooshed open once again, and in walked Mr. Spock.

"Well, well, well," said McCoy, crossing his arms. "Look what the cat dragged in,"

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow. "A feline, doctor?"

"Never mind. Just a human expression."

"Ah, I see. Little wonder that it makes no sense."

McCoy rolled his eyes and sighed. "Did you come here for any specific reason, Spock, other than to make my job harder?"

"Indeed doctor. I believe I require medical attention."

"Oh, really? What's wrong?"

"For the past several days, I have been experiencing mental anxiety. I have difficulty meditating and concentrating, and I am fatigued. I have been sleeping nearly every night, and I have also been having strange dreams."

"Dreams?"

"The very fact that I have dreams at all is unusual. Vulcans typically experience dreamless sleep. Evening meditation resolves the stray thoughts and issues encountered throughout the day, and it is typically unnecessary to revisit those conflicts in the subconscious realm. These dreams are . . . chaotic and illogical. I see random images of unfamiliar landscapes and strange blue shapes . . ."

"_Blue_ shapes? What kind of blue shapes?"

"I am not sure. It is difficult to remember. They were a deep, lustrous shade of blue and were about 1.2 meters high. They seemed to have many moving parts. I am not sure if it was plant, animal, or person. The only consistency about the dreams is the strong sense that something was trying to communicate with me. The mental assaults are exhausting."

McCoy frowned. "Have you been seeing any of these "blue shapes" outside of your dreams? Been having any hallucinations?"

"Negative."

The doctor sighed and furrowed his brow. "Something weird is going on around here. I've had five crewmembers from all over the ship report seeing hallucinations of blue objects."

"Perhaps there is an error within the environmental controls systems?"

McCoy shrugged. "Maybe. I'll have Scotty run a diagnostic. Meanwhile, I want you to get some sleep. I can tell you're exhausted just from looking at you. I'm going to give you a strong sedative. You should go back to your quarters directly and rest."

The Vulcan did not seem satisfied with taking the rest of the day off, but he agreed nevertheless. After Spock had left, McCoy sat down at his desk, puzzled. _Blue things?_ he thought. _What in the _hell_ is going on around here?_

_******_

McCoy was just preparing to leave his office after beta shift when Jim suddenly stormed into the Sickbay.

"Very funny, Bones," he snapped, slamming a data padd down on the desk. "I know I've been complaining about how boring the patrol missions are, but that doesn't mean I have time for practical jokes."

"Dammit Jim, what's this all about?"

"Oh, I think you know what I mean. First I thought the padd was malfunctioning, but Scotty says there's nothing wrong with it. I just wish that if you were going to scribble nonsense on my padds that you wouldn't erase the work left out on the desktop!"

"I didn't do anything to your data padd!"

"Well, then who did? I know it wasn't Spock, and no one else has override access to my quarters. Listen, if you don't have enough work to do, I can _find _something for you to do!"

"Jim, I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Look!" Jim thrust the tablet into McCoy's face. The surface was covered with circles. There were big circles, little circles, intersecting circles, chains of circles, all arranged in one large central pattern beginning in the middle of the screen and radiating outwards. "There's page after page of this. And this is the third night that it's happened."

McCoy set the padd down on his desk. "Jim, something strange is going on here. Tell me. By any chance, have you been having any kind of hallucinations lately? Particularly of blue things?"

Jim froze. "How did you know about that? I haven't told anyone."

"You're not the only one. I've had crewmembers coming in all week complaining about seeing things. Spock was in here earlier; apparently he's dreaming about them."

"Wow. I thought I was just staring at the computer screen too much. I didn't realize other people were having the same experience. What does it mean?"

"I don't know. I've examined everyone who's affected, and I've run blood tests, but everything comes out normal. I think we need to have a staff meeting about this." McCoy crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. "Something's not right on this ship, and we've got to find out what it is."

******

"Okay," began the Captain. "So here's what we know. Something is amiss on this ship. Perfectly healthy crewmembers are having visual and tactile hallucinations. Since there's nothing wrong with them physically or mentally, then we must consider the possibility that the phenomena in question is in fact real." He turned to Uhura. "You didn't really pinch your leg on your chair the other day did you?"

She shook her head. "No sir, I don't think so."

"Something," he continued. "Reached out and touched you. Other crewmembers report being poked and pinched. And then there's the matter of this . . . ." He held out the be-circled data padd. "I think this is some form of language. Something is trying to communicate with us. The questions are what and why."

"But we've run every scan imaginable," said Scotty. "If there was a life form in the vicinity, or even on the ship, we would have detected it by now."

"It is possible, Mr. Scott," commented Spock, "that the being in question, if it is in fact a being, is from another galaxy and does not show up on our sensors. Or, the being might not have a corporeal form."

"But if this . . . whatever it is . . . doesn't have a form, then how can it be making physical contact with us?" asked McCoy. "And what about these blue things that everyone's seeing? Are we dealing with a swarm of some kind of life form that can make itself invisible?"

"Spock," said the Captain. "When we first beamed over to the alien craft last week, you sensed something. You couldn't tell what it was, but you were definitely affected by something. Now McCoy tells me you've been having that same sensation, and that you can't concentrate, like something's trying to work it's way into your mind. Surely there's some connection here?"

"I have come to the same conclusion, Captain," replied the Vulcan stoically. "I have felt a definite presence nearby for several days. I realize now that the presence has been making regular attempts to breach my mind shields and communicate telepathically. However, I am wary to allow an unknown force into my mind. I do not know what this thing or things are, and it would be unwise to place myself, and thus the ship, in risk of being controlled by an alien entity."

"Agreed," said Kirk. "We don't want to place anyone in risk. But we've got to find a way of communicating. These episodes are becoming more frequent. It could be that this being needs our help."

"It is equally likely that the entity might harm the Enterprise and/or its crew," countered Spock.

"Aye," said Scotty. "If it can draw on a data padd and touch people, then surely its capable of pushing buttons and moving levers. It could take over my ship . . . I mean, _the _ship."

"I have an idea," said McCoy. "Spock can communicate with this thing, but to do so would be too risky. What if we set up a controlled environment in which that risk was removed? We could place Spock under restraint. I could rig up a neural monitor and attach it to the base of his skull. It can be programmed to temporarily sever telepathic activity in case of danger. He would be monitored at all times, and so the experiment can be halted if anything goes wrong."

"That could work," said Kirk. "Mr. Spock? Do you agree?"

"Yes, Captain. I believe the doctor's precautions are adequate."

"Great! Let's get started!"

Suddenly, a deafening boom and a huge crash shook the conference room, throwing everyone to the floor. "Bridge to Captain Kirk," shouted the intercom. "We are under attack. I repeat, we are under attack!"

The Captain rushed to the intercom. "Go to red alert! Evasive maneuvers, Sulu. I'm on my way. Kirk out!"

The loud claxon began sounding and red lights flashed as the senior officers rushed towards battle stations.

******

Kirk rushed into the bridge and perched tensely in his command chair. "Situation, Mr. Chekov?"

"An alien wessel sir," he replied. "It looks like the same type we encountered last week. It just dropped out of varp nine and began immediately firing on us. They are not answering hails."

"Damage report?"

"One of the nacelles has been hit, and there was a hull breach on a lower deck. No major casualties, but shields are down to 56%!"

"Return fire!" shouted Kirk, as another blast rocked the bridge. Sparks flew from a damaged console, and smoke poured from the ceiling. "Target their weapons array. Assign and dispatch repair crews immediately. Lieutenant Uhura, keep trying to raise them! I want to know why they're firing."

The Enterprise countered with a burst of phaser blasts, but the alien ships were extremely fast and agile, and they rolled out of the way.

"Try again!" yelled Kirk, "and this time launch photon torpedoes on either side of the ship 5 mirco-seconds later! If they phasers don't get them, the torpedoes will."

Chekov complied, and a bright dance of light filled the viewscreen. "Direct hit, sir! Their shields are down."

Another weapon blasted from the alien ship. The bridge shook furiously, throwing people to the floor. The science station exploded in a multitude of yellow sparks, throwing Spock to the floor.

"Spock!" cried Jim, distracted in a moment of horror. He slammed his intercom. "Dr. McCoy to the bridge! Their weapons array, Chekov, NOW!"

Chekov's expert shooting guided the destructive mass of red light directly into the weapons nodule. There was a small white explosion, and the ship ceased fire.

"Sir, we're being hailed," cried Uhura.

"On screen, Lieutenant."

The bridge's viewscreen flickered, and the frantic and chaotic image of a damaged bridge appeared. Lights flashed and smoke leaked from consoles. Pink sparks rained down from some damaged machinery above the central control panel.

The ship's captain sat in a large bowl directly behind the ruined control panel. It was a nonhominid alien, one that no one on Enterprise's bridge had ever seen before. It was large, circular, covered in thin tentacles topped with shiny, black eyes, and it was bright blue.

The alien began to speak, waving its tentacles frantically and spewing a bizarre series of deep gurgles, guttural sounds, and unfriendly hisses. Within a few moments, the Enterprise's universal translator began to making sense of the display.

"Do not fire!" cried the alien. "We surrender. We only want to recover one of our own from your vessel. We discovered her damaged spacecraft several hundred light years away and assumed the worst. We know she is on your ship. Please! We demand that you return her to us!"

"This is Captain James T. Kirk of the Federation starship USS Enterprise. I demand to know why you fired on my ship! Why not simply open hailing frequencies?"

"Please, Captain! You must forgive us. We saw the wreckage of Xunae's vessel and detected your warp signature. We thought that you had attacked her. Poor, dear Xunae, the only daughter of our ruler, and next in line to inherit the High Chancellorship! We must retrieve her at all costs! Please, allow the four of us to board. We only want her safe return!"

"We will certainly not allow you to board our ship! And we're not even sure that the person you describe is on board!"

"Yes, she is! Your sensors may not be able to detect her, but ours can. Captain, her molecules have simply been dispersed. When her ship was damaged, the molecular cohesion device on the environmental controls ruptured. Our species is unable to exist outside of our atmosphere as corporeal beings. She is on your ship as a non-tangible cloud of atoms. If we don't return her to our environment soon, she could stay that way forever!"

The turbolift doors swooshed open, and in ran the doctor. He rushed to Spock's side and scanned his limp form.

"We will discuss your proposal," replied Kirk, stone faced. "We will speak again in ten solar minutes. End transmission."

Kirk rushed to his friend's side. "Calm down, Jim," said Bones. "He's going to be fine. He's got first degree burns on his hands and face, and two of his ribs are cracked. He has a minor concussion that knocked him unconscious. I'm about to bring him out of it." A hypospray hissed against Spock's burned neck, and he groaned.

Spock writhed on the floor and moaned. He slowly opened his bloodshot eyes and sat up. "Pain," he muttered stiffly. "This body is full of pain. But I must . . . "

He tried to stand up but faltered. "Whoa, easy there Spock," said McCoy. "Look, I know it hurts. Just sit right there, we're sending for an anti-grav stretcher."

"No, I must . . . we must . . ." His speech was labored and sounded mechanical. He turned to Jim. "You are the Captain," he said in broken speech. "I tried to warn you . . . do not trust the Xhanns."

Jim frowned. "The Xhaans, Spock? What are you talking about?" He turned to the doctor, puzzled. "Only a _slight_ concussion, Bones?"

"You must not allow them to come here. Please, do not let them take me. They lie. They are my assassins!"

"Spock! What are you talking about?"

"Jim!" McCoy gasped. "I don't think that this _is _Spock."

"Protect me from my enemies, Captain Kirk," said the injured man before them in awkward, broken speech. "If I am killed, the Xhaan military faction will inherit power. I fled from them . . . from their assassins . . . but they have found me! I left in search of help. They fired on my ship and destroyed my environmental controls. I lost my corporeal form. My molecules clung to yours when you transported off my ship, and my consciousness followed along. With great effort, I have been momentarily able to rearrange my molecules into small parts of myself, but to do so I must draw from the energy of others. I have been trying to reach out and communicate with you. I influenced the dreams of this one. I inhabited your body while you slept and used your hands to write in my own native language. It was crucial to communicate, to plead with you . . . to warn you . . ."

Spock's eyes closed and he drooped against McCoy. "He's getting worse, Jim. I've _got _to get him to Sickbay."

"This alien consciousness, this . . . Xunae. She must have entered his body when he was injured, when his mental shields were down!"

"Jim, she's draining his energy. If we don't get her out . . . Spock might not make it."

"Xunae!" said Jim. "Xunae, can you hear me? You must leave this body. It is injured. It cannot contain you much longer. Please . . ."

Spock/Xunae responded with a small sigh. He lifted a trembling hand and placed it on Kirk's forehead, spreading his fingers over the telepathic meld points. "My mind," he gasped, "to . . . your mind."

A flash of images, of words, of sensations flooded Jim's thoughts. A lifetime of information poured into his mind. He saw golden yellow skies strewn with greenish clouds. There were ivory colored rock formation covered in moss of bizarre shades of pink and purple. Large, alien flowers climbed silvery trees. There were lakes of silvery lavender liquid; there were cities filled with massive, circular structures; he saw other blue creatures, large and small. There were animals, insects, reptiles, and birds of every conceivable shape and size. A person, a woman was calling out to him. The information traveled so fast that Jim's head spun. Suddenly, Spock's hand fell from his forehead, and the Vulcan collapsed once again.

Jim stood up. He knew what to do.

******

"Lieutenant, open hailing frequencies."

The blue skinned Xhaans reappeared on the screen. "Captain!" gushed their leader. "Thank you so much for considering our request. We ask with great humility that we be allowed to retrieve our lost sister?"

"Permission granted to come aboard," replied the Captain coolly. "But first, we must compensate for your atmosphere."

"That is not necessary. We have atmospheric compensation belts," replied the Xhaan captain. "They prevent us from losing our corporeal form within foreign environments. Other than that, our scans reveal that our atmospheres are compatible."

"Ah! They only _appear_ compatible. That is a defense mechanism. This is to prevent unwanted species from boarding our vessel against our will. Once we are invaded, any species incompatible with our atmosphere must flee or perish. We certainly would not want anything like that to happen to our new friends. Please allow us to beam . . . life support devices to your ship. Simply attach them to your persons, flip the switch, wait three minutes for the machines to fully activate, and them beam aboard our vessel. Prepare to receive the devices in thirty minutes. Oh, and . . . bring an extra one of your atmospheric compensation belts for Xunae. End transmission."

Jim leapt from his chair and rushed to the turbolift. There was a strange fire in his hazel eyes. "Cap'n! What do ye think yer doin'?" exclaimed Scotty.

"Scotty, meet me in the transporter room in thirty minutes. Bring a security team."

"Aye, sir," replied Scotty, incredulously. What was the Captain up to now?

******

When Scotty met Kirk in the transporter room a half hour later, the Captain held four small mechanical devices in his hands. They were crudely built and cross-circuited. They seemed to have been just thrown together.

"Capt'n, what in the world?"

"Scotty, these are the 'life support devices.'" He placed them on the transporter pad.

"Sir, did you just . . . build those yourself?"

"Of course," casually replied the Captain, as if constructing life support technology for alien races within minutes was something he did every day. "Energize." The transporter whined and the small machines disappeared.

"Okay, everyone, have phasers armed and ready, set to heavy stun." He pulled his own phaser. "In a few minutes, the Xhaans will come aboard. Keep phasers armed at the Xhaans at all times. They are not to be trusted."

Indeed, when the aliens beamed over a few minutes later, they themselves were heavily armed. "Fire!" cried Kirk, just as the Xhaans finished materializing.

The hostile aliens didn't have a chance. Their squishy blue bodies fell to the floor with soft thumps. Kirk grabbed the spare atmospheric compensation belt, as well as the life support devices that he had beamed over.

"Cap'n, are ya just goin' to let them die?"

"No Scotty. They're fine. Beam them back over to their ship." The transporter whined once more, and the unconscious alien bodies vanished. "Scotty, meet me in the bridge."

As Kirk and Scotty entered the bridge, they were met by McCoy. "Jim, what's going on? Where are the Xhaans? How could you just let them come aboard, after what they did to our ship?"

"Aye," moaned Scotty. "Me poor bairn."

"Gentlemen," said Kirk, sitting down. "The so-called 'life support devices' that I requested the Xhaans use weren't life support devices at all. They were recording computers. In the three minutes that they were operating on the Xhaan ship, we were able to download the entire content of their ship's logs."

"But how did you know how to build those, Cap'n?"

"Before Spock fainted, I mind melded with Xunae, whose consciousness was inside Spock's body. She told me how to build them. Also during the meld, I learned the truth. Xunae was right. They _are_ assassins. The Xhaans are a renegade colony of her planet who declared their independence 100 years ago and are now trying to conquer the home world, Xu. If the next in line to rule was taken out of the picture, it would have been easier for the Xhaans to seize control of the planet. All this information, and all of their devious schemes, are contained within those ship's logs. It's enough to expose their plot, and bring these criminals to justice."

"Wow," responded McCoy. "This Xunae gal sure knows her stuff."

"After 239 years, I would like to think so, Dr. Leonard H. McCoy," said a strange voice. Everyone spun around and saw the corporeal form of Xunae, clad in the atmospheric compensation belt. She was large and blue just like the Xhaans, except that she had dark circular markings around her tentacles.

"Sir," said Uhura. "We're being hailed by the Xhaan vessel."

"Put them on screen."

"Kirk!" gurgled the Xhaan captain. "What is this? We had an agreement. How could you . . . " His words trailed off as he saw the now formed Xunae.

"Traitor!" she hissed at the screen. "Why couldn't you be satisfied with your own independence? Why try to enslave your own homeworld, your brothers and sisters? You will never conquer Xu, not while I'm around. There will never be a Xhaan empire."

"You!" bellowed the Captain. "We will kill you yet, Chancellor-daughter!"

"You will be thrown into prison for your crimes!" shouted Xunae.

"And what proof do you have?" snarled the enemy. "The word of one pitiful girl against high ranking members of the Xhaan Military Counsel?"

"I'm afraid she _does_ have proof, after all Captain," said Kirk. "We were able to record your ship's log detailing the assassination plans, as well as your previous terrorist activities."

"Arrgghhh!!! Then we will chase you down and destroy the evidence and your ship!"

"I'm afraid not," said Kirk. "Chekov, fire a photon torpedo at their warp engines."

"Firing torpedo, sir." Three seconds later, the Xhaan ship was floating helpless in space.

"By the time you reach home, we will be prepared for you!" said Xunae. "You will never come to our planet again, if you value your freedom."

The Xhaans quickly cut communications, enraged by their failure.

Xunae turned to Kirk and McCoy. "Oh, sirs! Thank you so much for saving my life and the lives of my people! If my enemies had succeeded, they could have infiltrated our government and seized control! Now we have proof of their aggression, thanks to you." Her tentacles drooped. "I am only sorry that I caused you trouble. And I am sad that your friend was hurt."

"It's okay, Ms. Xunae," replied McCoy. "He's going to be all right. You left his body at just the right time."

"We should thank you in turn for saving _our_ lives," commented Kirk. "Those political enemies of yours beamed onto the ship heavily armed. They could have killed us all in an instant without your telepathic warning." He took one of her tentacles and clasped it in his hands. "We really are grateful. Not only for your help, but for the chance to meet such a very special person."

Xunae flashed light blue in splotches, which Kirk could only assume was a blush.

******

_Captain's Personal Log: Stardate 4899.8_

_We have contacted Starfleet Command regarding the Xhaan incident, and we've been granted permission to return Xunae to her home planet. It is a journey of about five days at maximum warp. The Federation now knows that there are indeed planets deep within the 'Blank Zone,' which I suspect might be soon renamed. Xu is an M class planet, rich in minerals, gemstones, and other natural resources, including dilithium crystals. It's really a very beautiful place. During the mind meld with Xunae, I caught many glimpses of the native flora and fauna, but seeing things like that in person is always so much more exciting. The Xuans are very interested in joining the Federation, and negotiations are set to begin in a few months._

_Mr. Spock has made a full recovery, and he and Bones are back to their usual sparring. _

_We are continuing on our patrol. This doesn't bother me so much anymore, knowing just what exactly can happen on a supposed routine, boring mission. I guess maybe Starfleet Command does know a thing or two about how to use her starships._

_Speaking of Starfleet Command, I've _still_ got all that paperwork to do: annual crew evaluations. Oh well. Who knows? Maybe I'll get lucky and we'll be unexpectedly attacked by another hostile alien vessel before I have to do too much of it._


End file.
